Home Plate (Easton U Pirates 2)

“What do you see yourself doing with your degree?” I asked as Maclain shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to meet my eyes.

“I thought we were studying, not having another heart-to-heart.”

“Is that what we’ve been doing?” I lobbed back. “I thought we were just becoming friends.”

He fiddled with his pen, the movement becoming more agitated. “Why the hell do you care so much?”

“Why do you not?”

“I don’t need any more friends.”

“You’re full of crap,” I said through a clenched jaw. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to be friends with me? My family owns a bowling alley, so there are perks.”

“Like fountain soda and foosball?” he joked, finally looking at me.

I laughed, then sobered as we did that staring thing again. “To answer your question, I’m doing this for Coach. And for our team. I would think you’d want the same thing.”

“I do. Of course, I do. I just…”

More staring.

“What?” I softened my voice as my pulse thundered in my ears. “Just say it.”

He looked from my eyes down to my lips as our knees pressed together. I didn’t think it was by accident, and I felt a bit breathless from the contact as well as the close quarters.

“I’m not used to… I’ve just never been friends with such an annoying person. I mean, what did you do—stalk me outside my building and plan the whole cardboard umbrella thing?”

“Yes, of course. I was dying to get soaking wet just so I could walk with you, our almighty star pitcher. My life depends on your friendship.”

There was a moment of silence right before our laughter echoed in the hollow space.

“Let’s get to studying, Maclain, because you’re starting to smell like a wet dog.”

“Screw you,” he said, knocking my shoulder, and there we were, back on even ground.

And then we actually did study alone together in the small space, both trying to ignore all the tension.

We were so lost in our thoughts that a sharp rap on the door startled us.

Hollister pulled open the door, Lopez standing behind him. “How the hell did you score a room? This place is mobbed.”

I glanced at the time on my phone. “Here, take my place. I gotta get to class.”

Grabbing my bag, I slipped out the door without giving Maclain the satisfaction of another glance.

11

Maclain

We filed onto the bus for our weekend away, this time in North Carolina against a team that was considered stiff competition last year. We were all spread out, and I pretended not to notice where Girard had landed a few rows behind me. Things had remained cool between us. As cool as could be after the coffee/library thing, when I nearly combusted from being so close to him. I could barely concentrate on my test that afternoon, but thankfully, I pulled it off, then promptly went home to jerk off. At least it helped relieve some of the tension, but I wasn’t sure it would ever completely leave me as long as he was around, and I didn’t know what to do about that.

Right before the bus took off, Kellan came around with refreshments he’d lugged from the clubhouse. He handed out bottled waters, and we dug into his box of snacks, most of us steering clear of Donovan’s beloved blue gummies and Lopez’s Snickers. When he got to me, he reached inside, then tossed a bag of candy in my lap.

“Girard told me you love Bit-O-Honey, so I stocked up for you.”

“What the hell?” I twisted my head toward the back of the bus and met Girard’s eyes. “You told him that?”

He shrugged, a smug look on his face. “What? It’s true.”

“Is not,” I bit out.

“Aww, look, a lovers’ quarrel,” Fischer said, and everyone laughed.

“Screw you.” My entire body heated and that shame slid into place as I faced forward again.

Kellan was staring at me. “So…was Girard pranking you? I shouldn’t have bought them?”

It was true we’d all pulled plenty of pranks on each other during the previous seasons. The best one was placing a toy mouse in Kellan’s laundry basket his first week on the job as he collected towels in the locker room. His squeal had been epic, and the guys still razzed him about it.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” I clutched the bag closer. “But now that you did…I like them all right.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied in a disbelieving tone. “Well, I think it was nice of him to think of you.”

“Whatever,” I grumbled. He was the one who started all this kumbaya shit, and he knew it. I so did not want these guys to think Girard and I were doing each other favors. We’d hear about it for days.

“It’s not so bad to have someone looking out for you, you know,” Kellan whispered before finally moving on.

I’d never had someone look out for me, not in a true sense. I’d been taking care of myself for far too long, so the concept was foreign and one I didn’t like. Not one bit. I couldn’t rely on anyone—I’d learned that much—which was why the routine of school and sports worked for me. It was comfortable and dependable. Until it got thrown out the window.